Mafia Heir
by Wolken
Summary: Marcus, born in a mafia family, has gotten shot by a cop. He's back in Italy to recover. His uncle has brought him a slave, from England. Marcus' father has disappeared years ago there. But because of Marcus injuries, he can't regain his honor easily. So he must set out for England to find what has happened to his father and where the the symbol of the family, a golden eagle, is.


With his foot he kicked an empty soda can away, the rattling noise startled some stray cat that ran away with an angry hiss, disappearing behind the corner of the alley. Kicking the can had barely brought any relief to his anger. He was the one who supposed to be in there, not his cousin. He, the eldest son of his grandfathers eldest son, had gotten the simple job of looking out for coppers. Like he was some kind of errand boy. He was supposed to make deals with other families. He was the one who was supposed to become the Don of the family.

His anger only seemed to increase because of the icy cold around him. Marcus leaned back against the brick wall behind him, putting his hands in his pockets. He barely had any feeling left in his fingertips and he longed for the day that he could return to Italy. Warm, sunny Italy. But for now he had to stay in this damned cold land. All because of the accident.

It hadn't been Marcus fault but that didn't matter. Like a heritage, shame and reputation went from father to son, from mother to daughter. And the families reputation was strongly depended on the reputation of its family members. One small mistake and everything could fall into pieces.

Once, Marcus was destined to become the next Don of the family, after his grandfather and father. He had grown up knowing that. And all seemed to go into that direction until his father had left for England for business because a few Italian shop owners had decided that they wouldn't pay their taxes to the Aquila anymore. He never returned, gone without a trace, and so were the men that went with him.

Marcus grandfather, Lucius, had been bragging about the fact that they would have the shop owners back paying the taxes as they supposed to within two weeks. Although England was far from Italy, the strength and control of the Aquila family spread to even there. But because Marcus father had disappeared and the shop owners still refused to pay, other families started talking. Had Marcus father been kidnapped, murdered or did he desert the family. In either case, a huge blemish on the families honor.

Marcus future of becoming a Don was gone, but that wasn't the worst. His father was gone, dead, and every time his father's name was mentioned, it was in a whispered tone, like something you shouldn't talk about. Or as an example of cowardice.

Marcus would have to regain his and his father's honor by proving to be a worthy member of the Aquila family. But how could he do that while he was standing here, out in the cold, while his cousin was doing business with the people inside of this building.

He clenched his hands into fists in his anger. He had known that it would be hard to climb up in the hierarchy of the family and even harder with such a bad reputation but it was going too slow. Like he was stuck in quick-sand that he couldn't get out of or move forward.

While he was leaning against the wall in the alley, it was just by accident that Marcus decided to look up to the moon when he saw a dark figure in the window on the other side of the street. A short metallic glinster made him aware that this wasn't just a trick of his mind. His heart missed a beat as he stared at the place where he had seen the glinster. Then his mind seemed to catch up with his mind.

He turned around on his heels and threw his full weight into the door, bursting into the building, the door slamming against the wall with a loud bang. ''Sbirri! Sbirri!'' he shouted, hearing the echo along the dirty walls, alarming the people who were in the back of the house. He had to start running, but his legs would barely cooperate. He could hear chairs falling in the back of the house, loud shouting in both Italian and some other language that he didn't know.

Marcus had almost made it out of the hallway in the house when, he heard a shot, a fierce pain shot through his leg, making him nauseous, not wanting to think of the damage that the bullet might have done. But at the moment, it felt like it was one fire. He tripped, stumbled and fell straight onto the edge of a side table in the hallway. The pain in his head was almost matching the pain in his leg. The moment that he felt that pain, he blacked out.

The moment he felt the pain, Marcus woke up from his dream with a snap, gasping for air. He wasn't in England anymore, no, he was back in Italy, back on the estate of the family, back in safety. His leg was aching again, quite badly. Marcus rubbed over the sore spot, trying to ease the pain a bit. The bullet had pierced right through his lower leg, going one way in and stopping somewhere in the middle. It had taken the doctor of the family quite some time to get the bullet out.

They couldn't bring Marcus to a hospital, too dangerous with all the rivaling gangs around them. There was a reason that they had needed a look-out, it wasn't considered a safe place. Marcus would have been dead before he got out of the operation room. His cousin and the other people in the house had managed to get out and to shoot several of the other group. It turned out that it hadn't been sbirri, police, as Marcus had first thought, but a rivaling group that had been anxious to make a deal with the group that his cousin was doing business with.

Marcus looked up when he heard someone knocking on the door on the door. He frowned, although he did live on the estate of the family, in the old house of his father before he moved to America, he hadn't had many visitors over. He grabbed the crutch that leaned against the sofa and tried to push himself up from the couch, gritting his teeth in pain. Getting up from a chair, couch or bed was difficult, but it was always worse after not moving for more than an hour. His whole body felt stiff and his leg still wasn't very trustworthy. After getting back on his feet, he half limped, half walked towards the door.

He had been living here for quite a while now, ever since he was fired from the hospital. And most of the furniture that they had had in America had also moved to Italy with them. So the house felt familiar even though it had been a month since he left the hospital. Because he was born in America, he had never spend a lot of time in Italy. Yes, of course, he spend almost every summer here on the estate but always in the house of one of his aunts with his sister.

But when he thought of home, the memory of the villa in America always came into his mind. They had lived a small end out of town, at the edge of the Italian quarter. His mother had preferred that instead of living in the city, she said that it was better for the children to have the room around them. But Marcus suspected that it was because she was homesick.

Outside of the city, she didn't have to hear English. She had followed her husband to America but she didn't like it there. She always insisted that Marcus and Julia spoke Italian around the house. For dinner it was always some kind of Italian dish. And if she did have to go into the city to buy groceries, she refused to go outside of the Italian quarter.

Because of this, she never learned much English. And that brought her into troubles when she wanted to go back to Italy, after his father had disappeared. The people at the port where they would leave from, thought that she was an immigrant wanting to live in America. It was quite hard to make clear to them that she had lived in America for over 15 years and that no, she couldn't speak more than ten words in English, including how to ask the way back to the Italian part of the city.

It hadn't been the decision of Marcus father to go to America, it had been Lucius decision, the grandfather of Marcus. A lot of Italians had left the country and had built a new, wealthy life in the land of dreams. His grandfather had sent his eldest son there, to be a Don in the new land, where he too could built his own life. Either Lucius didn't want to be confronted with his own aging and the upcoming succession of him, or he really did want to give his son a own start in a wealthy country, while in Italy the economy was deteriorating.

Marcus had grown up there in America, bilingual, both able to speak Italian an English. It had been a hard life in America, not every immigrated Italian wanted to pay easily and his father made long hours making sure that they earned enough to maintain the house and their lifestyle. But they managed to survive there, although Lucius was a tad disappointed in the profits, thinking that his son could do better than this meager supply of money.

But the true disappointment of Lucius had been when Marcus father had disappeared when he had gone to Glasgow for business. They lost their power and wealth in the Italian quarters, nobody respected them and they refused to pay any more money. That was how Marcus, his mother and his sister were forced to move back to Italy.

Marcus mother, although she never felt at home in America, now also had problems adjusting in Italy. She died a few months later of a broken heart. Only Marcus and his sister Julia were still alive, Julia had married and moved out of the house so it was only Marcus now in his father's house.

Marcus managed to walk to the door but before opening it, Marcus grabbed the 9 mm pistol on the drawer , even though the estate was being patrolled by dogs and guards, one could never be safe enough. He always remembered the story that his father once told him, when he had still been in Italy. A man had entered the estate and the guards noticed him too late. It had been Lucius, then still a man in his forties, who had found and shot him. It later turned out that the man was a hired killer.

Sure, a murderer wouldn't knock on the door but it could be a diversion tactic. He turned the knob of the door and pulled the door open. It wasn't an assassin but his uncle. ''Marcus'' he greeted his nephew before walking inside of the house. There were a few houses on the estate, one was his uncles. Marcus wanted to close the door but Stephanos and someone else he didn't know followed his uncle into the house.

Stephanos had lived with the family as long as Marcus could remember. He was a Greek but spoke fluent Italian, his Greek on the other hand wasn't as good as it had been. His parents had gotten into a car accident –or at least that was what the newspapers said- and Stephanos had been added to the family, given as a present to his uncle. He was four years at that moment and he could barely remember anything of his previous life.

The stranger had a slim body and looked quite bruised up. His shoulders were hunched and Marcus could see that his right eye was black and blue. There were various cuts in all stages of healing over the skin that Marcus could see, some of them superficial, the others deeper. But what really caught his attention were the tattoos on his arm.

The tattoos on his right arm were made out of dark blue ink. Four bracelet-like inkings, spiraling around his upper arm, the first one spreading out to his shoulder blade. They weren't as detailed or colorful as most tattoo's that Marcus had seen but they formed an union and seemed to fit the man. It was a shame that they were blemished with scars that ran straight through the tattoo's, smudging the ink and on some places erasing the lines completely. But even though that the tattoo's were marred, it was still visible that they had been made by an skilled tattoo artist.

The bruised stranger didn't look back at Marcus, he just followed Stephanos while staring down at the floorboards beneath him. Even with his hunched posture, Marcus could see that the other was at least two inches smaller than he was.

Marcus closed the door behind the three and looked at his uncle when he spoke. ''How's your leg?'' he asked. Marcus nodded. ''It'll be fine'' His uncle frowned and shook his head slowly, like a parent would do to a lying child. ''I heard something else from the doctor, he said that you will be limp for your life'' Now it was Marcus turn to frown. ''That isn't sure yet. I will be fine in a couple of weeks'' His uncle shook his head again, this time disapprovingly. ''As stubborn as your dad. Will you ever accept the truth?'' he turned around and pushed the stranger a few steps forward. ''He'll help you. Stephanos is too old to take care of the both of us. He's from England and doesn't speak any Italian but I don't think that that will proof to be a problem with your English, won't it?'' his uncle asked Marcu

Marcus was getting irritated by now, he wasn't a child that had to be taken care off! He was an adult, responsible for his own life for quite some time. But after the incident, a lot of people seemed to forget about that. ''I should have been consulted!'' ''Well, you weren't. And since I've gone through too much trouble getting him from England to Italy, I'm not going to go again through that to bring him back. Either way, he has seen too much already. If you don't want him, get rid of the body yourself'' the man said, crossing his arms defensively.

Marcus sighed deeply and let himself drop down on the sofa, his leg had started to ache again. ''Okey, okey, I'll take him. What's his name?'' His uncle grinned in triomf and let his arms drop to his side. ''I got him from a cage fight ring. They called him Bait over there'' Marcus glanced at the bruised up stranger, who was apparently called Bait. He didn't like the name, it sounded too rough, too American, it made him remember. He had to focus on his new life, his life in Italy. He couldn't keep thinking about America, he couldn't go back. ''Bait…''he said softly, not talking to anyone directly, thinking deeply about a new name.

''Esca'' he then said, looking at the man. It meant the same, Bait, since he couldn't think of a better name that would fit the man. But Esca sounded better than the rough name Bait. Plus he did resemble bait, with the cuts, scars and bruises. The man, or Esca now, didn't reply to his new name and had barely replied to Bait, just a short glance. But in time he would get used to it. The only question was if Marcus would get used to him. He had liked the silence around himself in the house, he could think of a plan to regain his honor and no one could stare at his injuries.

''Now, I've got to go, your grandfather still wants to talk to me about a few things. See you at the dinner, Marcus'' his uncle said, walking back towards the hallway to leave the house, Stephanos trailing a few steps behind him. Marcus couldn't help but notice the color of Stephanos hair, it was turning grey. His grandfather Lucius had always ruled by one motto on that subject. If they got too old, injured, sick or something else, you shot a bullet through their head. That was the way they had always dealt with slaves, his grandfather always said that this tradition went back generations. But till so far, his uncle hadn't taken care of Stephanos, although he was getting old and starting to forget things. Lucius was mad about it but tolerated it because he didn't want to turn his youngest son against him, his last son.

When he heard the lock of the door clicking and the house was silent again, his gaze moved back to Esca, who was still standing in the middle of the room. Although his eyes were casted downwards, Marcus could see by the small movements around his eyes that Esca did indeed was looking around himself, though a bit gingerly.

Marcus had been in a cage fight ring a few times, or more, he had been in the audience. There weren't any rules and most of the fights could end pretty bad. A broken arm or a crushed skull wasn't unusual. Most of the fighters died within two years after their first fight. Only a lucky few got out alive, which now included Esca.

Marcus had no idea why his uncle thought it would be such a good idea to give a cage fighter to him. An experienced fighter, especially skilled in dirty fighting with every possible weapon they could find, from a knife in a kitchen drawer or a razor in the bathroom. He could probably even find a weapon in a pencil.

But till now, he didn't seem very likely to attack Marcus. He still stood there, like a statue of stone. ''How long have you been in the ring?'' Marcus asked, breaking the silence. The other looked up, in his grey eyes that looked straight into Marcus brown eyes, he could see some kind of surprise and at the same time suspicion, just before his eyes moved back to the ground. It took a while before Esca answered. ''In the show ring, less than an hour. In the training ring, two years'' his voice was a bit hoarse, like he had either used it too much or too less.

That did explain his name, maybe he was that bad at fighting that his former owners didn't want to embarrass themselves by offering a bad show before the audience. After a few weeks, they would have gotten fed up with the training without results and most likely killed him. That Esca had managed to withstand two years in the training ring meant that he probably was used as a living dummy for the other fighters. But why his uncle thought that it was a good idea, he still didn't understand. He would have to ask his uncle later.

But for now he had to show Esca what he should do, which included almost everything that Stephanos had done for him in the last month. ''You'll keep the house clean, do the laundry, scrub the floors and take care of breakfast and lunch. No dinner, at evenings you will be expected to attend me at the family's dinner'' Marcus said,

It was tradition for the Aquila family to eat every dinner with every family member on the estate, sometimes accompanied by the head guard. Only a family member who couldn't get out of bed was excused. And since Marcus could walk with a crutch, he was also supposed to be there.

The next part was a bit harder, he didn't want to admit his weakness, like admitting it would slow down the healing process or even bring it to a halt. ''You'll help me with daily things that I can't do on my own'' Marcus gritted his teeth. Even tying his own shoelaces had proven to be a challenging task. And that all because of that one bullet that had pierced through his flesh, destroying his hopes of restoring his family's honor and regaining his own rightful place in the family.

The doctor of the family was a good one but he couldn't work miracles. Marcus could only hope that his leg would heal in time, or that at least the limp would become less obvious. He didn't want to look like a failure in his grandfathers eyes. He had to restore his family's honor. His sister Julia had already done her part of bringing a part of that back by marrying the right guy.

He was rich, connected to another important family, influential and most importantly, a hundred percent Italian. Their marriage meant a near to unbreakable connection through the two families. Their grandfather had been very pleased and hadn't protested more against their marriage than what was required by norms and morals.

The moment when their first child would be born, especially a son, the bond would be permanent. The other family wouldn't turn against the Aquila and neither would they. A big family was a strong family, everyone knew that. They could share their profits and claim more territory when they were together.

''Is that understood?'' Marcus asked. The other nodded. ''A verbal answer'' he insisted, the first few days were always the hardest, having to get used to the other. ''Yes… sir'' the other replied reluctantly. He didn't seem to happy about being in Italy. Marcus leaned back in the sofa, satisfied with the answer for now. ''Good, we still have about two hours before dinner is ready so you can get started on your chores. First the kitchen floor'' Stephanos was too old to scrub both the floors in his uncles house and in his house, so it had been a while since the floors were properly cleaned.

In the corners there were small piles of dust, the windows were starting to get dirty with the marks of the rain on them and the plants in the front yard were dying slowly because of the lack of water and the unforgiving burning sun above them. Maybe his uncle was a bit right about the fact that Stephanos couldn't handle all of the work of two houses and that Marcus needed someone to take care of that.

''Supplies are in the cabin next to the kitchen'' he said, dismissing Esca before taking up the book that was on the table next to him. He didn't particularly like the book, but he had to do something to spend the time. He looked out of the window, at the stables. When his father was young, there used to be racehorses in them. The grandfather of his father loved horserace's and he had always had some horses in the stables, mostly mares with foals. When the foals were one and a half, they left the estate for the stables near the racetrack to be trained. When they were two years old, they ran their first race.

But when the man died, Marcus grandfather had slowly started selling the horses one by one, the racing business wasn't lucrative enough and was starting to cost too much money and time. The stables were not used by horses anymore, though there was still hay stacked in them. The stables were starting to turn into shacks, with tiles fallen from the roof and the creaking doors.

He sighed, the stables reminded him of his own state, and browsed through the pages, glancing occasionally at the kitchen, where his new slave surprisingly was working. He hadn't expected too much, his grandfather had always claimed that Brits were even too stupid to understand basic tasks. That was also one of the arguments that Lucius used when talking about his eldest son, how stupid he must have been if he got killed by a Brit.

Once the promising son of him had turned into a moron, according to Lucius. And that all because of America. Marcus knew that he better not doubt his grandfather, especially not in public but he doesn't believe that his grandfather doesn't make any mistakes. He would check over the result later and then make his decision about believing his grandfathers story or his own experiences about Brits being too stupid for simple things.

A few hours later, Marcus found out that the result was better than what he had been expecting. The floor was actually clean when it was time for him to leave for dinner. He still had about half an hour before the dinner would actually be on the table, but he first had to get there and discuss some things with his uncle.

''Can you read?'' Marcus asked, while going towards one of the drawers and getting a piece of paper and a pencil out of it. He wasn't going to take Esca with him to dinner, though it was usual is his family. Stephanos was there every evening. But Marcus didn't know if his grandfather already knew about his uncles present and he wasn't going to risk an angry outburst of the man if he found out his son had made important decisions without his knowledge and consent.

His grandfather had always been very careful about who had access to valuable information. Business deals normally got around the other families quite quickly because of rumors but that wasn't something that Lucius worried about. Only the information about his family and what went on on the estate, that had to stay a secret. Children and women had to be protected from the outside world, the casualties among the men were already worse enough, they couldn't afford to also be a target at their own homes and having to worry about their families. That one time accident with the hired murderer on the estate was worse enough already.

Every new guard was checked, double checked and watched for months and months by the other guards. And the guards had to come from respectable families that they could trust. Stephanos didn't have any family left and he had been here since a young age, he wasn't a risk against the family. But Esca on the other hand, his uncle barely even knew anything about him before taking him on the estate. Only that he had been in cage fighting and that he couldn't speak a word Italian.

With Marcus current reputation by his grandfather, taking Esca to the dinner was the same as signing his death sentence. Lucius wouldn't even listen to any arguments, outsiders weren't allowed on the estate and they certainly weren't allowed to leave again alive.

Esca put the empty bucket back in the closet and replied. ''Yes, I can read'' he said, a faint tone of being offended in his voice. The pencil scratched on the paper, Marcus was making a list of chores that Esca should have completed before he would return from dinner. The busier Esca was, the less time he would have for searching the house. Marcus didn't like leaving someone he barely knew in his house while he wasn't around for a few hours. It was an Italian dinner after all, it took quite a bit longer than a dinner in America. Just to be sure, Marcus wouldn't leave any loaded guns around here, both in the drawer at the door and in the nightstand next to his bed, he had a loaded pistol. And the study with important papers and yet another gun would be locked.

''Don't let me catch you anywhere where you shouldn't belong. Do not leave the house before I return'' Marcus said while placing the list on the kitchen table. ''These are the chores I expect you to have completed before my return'' It was maybe a bit too much, but since the kitchen floor had been cleaned that thoroughly, it seemed that Esca had time too much.

Marcus grabbed the handle of the crutch and started walking towards the door. The two guns he had behind the waistband of his pants. He opened the front door and stepped into the garden. The sun was slowly starting to disappear behind the horizon and it was starting to get cooler. Marcus would have to hurry if he still wanted to talk to his uncle before dinner. He closed the door behind him and locked it with a key that he put in his pocket. A bit hesitant, he let go of the door handle and walked over the path of pebbles. He could already see a few of his family members walking inside the dining room of his grandfather's house, probably his aunts, trying to get every child at the table for dinner.

Marcus hoped that he was doing the right thing about leaving Esca in the house, unwatched and alone. If at his return the house was wrecked or something else was wrong, he wouldn't be too mild about it. His mother had arranged everything in the house, to the precise place where every furniture piece should stand. The money for buying a new couch wasn't the problem, it was the fact that his mother had done it that made it valuable.

Alone in this country that ought to be his homeland, he missed his family. His father gone and probably dead, his mother buried and his sister married and living somewhere else, it was lonely although he was surrounded by relatives. Only a year ago his life had looked so differently. He wouldn't have believed anybody that would have told him that a year later he would have lost his parents, his sister and the use of his leg. But he couldn't focus on that now, he had to concentrate on getting better and back into action. He would show his grandfather that even after the mistake of his father, that he was still useful and a good Aquila.


End file.
